


watch me burn (from your touch)

by actionpackedlips



Series: your gun to my head (my heart in your hands) [1]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dark Wade Wilson, M/M, Manhandling, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24290032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actionpackedlips/pseuds/actionpackedlips
Summary: Peter's first time meeting Deadpool made an impression, and not just in the form of the bruises he left around his throat.Prequel to Bury Me Face Down (In Your Heart)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: your gun to my head (my heart in your hands) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753558
Comments: 18
Kudos: 327





	watch me burn (from your touch)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is where it all began! Their first meeting, although it's just the beginning of many firsts between the two of them.
> 
> Prequel to Bury Me Face Down (In Your Heart).
> 
> Thanks again [cheekysstyles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekysstyles/pseuds/cheekysstyles) for being an amazing beta!!
> 
> Enjoy! 🖤

Peter Parker could admit defeat. He could step down from something and be the first one to say “this may be too tough for me to handle.” Honestly swallowing his pride at times was the only thing getting him through his near-impossible triple major at college right now.

Spider-Man, however, struggled a little harder with that.

That’s how he learned the hard way to never bring _only_ web shooters to a heavily armed, out-numbered gun fight.

Sure, he had strength on his side, and speed too, but _dammit_ , he was too busy evading bullets to get close enough. Peter had already managed to sling a gun out of one man's hands only for it to be replaced with something even more menacing and harder to dodge.

He felt like Hercules, cutting the heads off Hydra only for two more to grow back even more deadly and dangerous. 

It was in that fleeting thought, that maybe he’d bit off more than he could chew, stepped into something he should have teamed up for, when _he_ showed up. 

As if summoned by Peter’s thoughts of _deadly and dangerous_ , he quite literally dropped in along his right. It was enough to startle all of them out of what they’d been doing. Web slinging and bullets alike ceased to take a look at who was deranged enough to interrupt them in the middle of their heated fight.

Peter had never met him before. The Avengers vehemently told him to keep away from the man whenever he was near, and so Peter had, but the red and black was recognizable enough. Standing next to Peter dusting himself off, bizarrely unharmed from the fall, was Deadpool.

Peter’s advanced hearing could pick up the anxious mutterings of the men in front of them. One cursed colorfully while another one griped, “I didn’t get paid enough for this, man.” The guy standing next to him shushed him harshly.

“Quite rude of me to just drop in unannounced like that,” was the first thing out of his mouth, voice far more playful than the situation called for. “But I just couldn't help myself.”

His gaze shifted to Peter, then back to the six men with guns still held frozen in their hands, and he continued, “I just love the smell of an unfair fight in the morning.”

Peter bristled at the suggestion that he couldn’t handle this. He was a _superhero_ for God’s sake. If anyone was at a disadvantage it was the men in front of him. He just hadn’t quite gotten to the part where he took them out yet. It was harder when guns were involved. They often got messy and Peter didn’t want anyone hurt, himself included.

It was a fact he knew Deadpool overlooked. Messy and Pain were practically his middle names. 

Peter may have been told to stay away from the merc, but that hadn’t stopped him from heavily researching him. Or perhaps keeping tabs on him. Just in case. New York City didn’t need anymore bloodshed, and just by his mere presence Deadpool brought it in droves.

“Now,” Deadpool said, still addressing the men, “I see you may be a little confused, what with there being a superhero every other block in this damn city, but do you happen to know who you’re shooting at?”

The men looked at each other as if it was a trick question. They hadn’t been anticipating a pop quiz, apparently.

Deadpool continued as if his question had been rhetorical. 

“This,” Deadpool made a grand gesture at Spider-Man as if he was the prize behind door number one, “is practically the love child of Iron Man and Captain America.”

The men blinked at Deadpool, and Peter noticed their hands started to grip their guns tighter. They were growing sick of Deadpool’s monologue.

Peter was, too. His own silence surprised him, but he supposed he was in a little bit of dazed shock at his rather abrupt appearance.

Deadpool was so much… _more_ in person. Firstly, he was tall and rather huge. That observation alone had Peter growing startlingly hot beneath his suit. He completely towered over Peter, and his shoulder width easily rivaled Steve’s, if not surpassed it, who even the internet had agreed was shaped like a damn Doritos chip.

Just looking at Deadpool was enough to recognize he was dangerous. His motormouth couldn’t lessen that kind of physical intimidation.

Peter tuned back just as Deadpool was saying, “Die with a little _patriotism_ , eh?”

That was the last straw. Head Honcho, or so Peter had been calling him in his head, whipped his gun up and went to fire it off, path set straight for Deadpool. Peter barely had time to make a move, senses warning him shrilly, before the quick _zing_ of a fired bullet stopped him.

Deadpool had quite literally shot the gun straight out of the man's hands. It seemed to have taken a few fingers with it, too.

Pure agony crossed the man's features and a tiny squeak of pain was all that left him as he dropped to one knee, cradling his mutilated hand. His band of merry men moved as if to draw their weapons, but Deadpool was faster. He had guns in both hands before anyone knew it, even Peter, and he trained them between the men in front of him warningly until finally settling them on the two farthest men on opposite ends of their line up. 

It didn’t seem to matter that he didn’t have a gun trained on all of them, the other men froze as if he had. 

The smell of fresh blood was starting to fill the abandoned street they were on and Peter’s nose twitched from it. It was clearly time for Spider-Man to step in here. With Deadpool subduing the remaining men, he could easily web them up now.

“Deadpool, I think I—”

“Now,” Deadpool’s voice easily swallowed Peter’s, “I’m only here for _spirit fingers_ over there. The rest of you are just a bonus.”

He rolled his head lazily over to Peter, gaze only meeting him for the second time since his outlandish entrance, and his mask winked flirtatiously, “ _Lucky me._ ”

What the hell…

“But,” he sighed, focusing back in on the men, as if put out, “As fun as it would be, I’m not about workin’ pro bono. So, call me charitable, or whatever, but if you leave now I won’t kill you. If you stay, well...” he fired off a quick bullet and the man who’d been on the far right fell back dead.

Peter’s gaze widened in disbelief. Deadpool had just shot that man straight through the head. 

His jaw fell open in shock, unable to form words. 

Peter had never seen someone killed that brutally before. 

Sure, he’d often joined The Avengers in fights, and they sometimes ended with casualties (usually for the villain), but this was cold blooded murder.

These men could easily have been rounded up and Deadpool shot one anyway.

The frantic shuffling of feet drew Peter’s focus back into what was happening. Two men had started to run away frantically in retreat. Peter honestly didn’t blame them.

That left only three behind. Head Honcho, who was still attempting to collect his fingers, and the two men flanking him. They moved in closer, tightening their defense around him.

Peter came to his senses then and realized he could, and should, take control of this situation. He was _Spider-Man_ , dammit, and absolutely did not condone killing in his city. No matter who they thought they were.

Peter quickly slung out with his web shooters to immobilize the men. They struggled and cursed but there was no getting out of that stuff, Peter thought proudly, he’d designed it himself. 

Deadpool somehow looked impressed even with his mask on.

“Nice one, Webs. Thanks a bunch. Makes this a whole lot easier for me, and less bullet-filled. I’m getting real sick of replacing suits. Bullet holes are _such_ a bummer,” he shook his head, “amiright?”

Peter wouldn’t know. Didn’t _want_ to know.

He didn’t say that, though.

Instead he stood up straighter and told him, trying to channel his inner Captain America, “I’ve got it covered from here, Deadpool.”

Deadpool only laughed at that. “Oh, you’re cute.”

Peter physically deflated and flushed as he snapped out in embarrassment, “I was here first!”

It sounded childish even to his own ears, but it didn’t make it any less true. Wasn’t there some sort of superhero conduct about these things?

Deadpool holstered his guns, attention moving fully to Peter now.

“Oh really?” He crossed his arms, and they bulged ridiculously. His eyebrow raised quizzically under his mask.

“You’re _not_ killing him,” Peter said resolutely. “I could have ended this fight without getting _anyone_ hurt. Back down, Deadpool.” His voice barely shook, even if his stomach did somersaults as he threatened the deadly-looking man.

A more threatening look crossed Deadpool’s masked features, “I’m _not_ fighting you over a mark.”

The thundercloud of anger that had rumbled in seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had come as he suddenly suggested, “Why don’t we call his name and see who he comes to first?”

Was this guy for real?

“Deadpool, this isn’t a ga—”

Peter’s senses trilled, warning him of danger, but his attention had been too focused on arguing with Deadpool. He moved just a tad too late, and his shoulder flared bright with hot, intense pain.

Nothing but a gasp escaped him, and even _that_ felt painful.

“ _Motherfucker!_ ” Deadpool cursed as bullets came flying from the men that had clearly _not_ run for their lives, but who had escaped for backup. “This is why unaliving them is _so much easier.”_

Deadpool sprinted the distance between them, scooping him up easily under an arm, and made for the corner of a building not far from them. It wasn’t the best cover, but it would do for now.

Once there, Deadpool tossed Peter up against the building a little too hard. His shoulder jostled painfully, and stars sparked across his vision.

The air in his lungs left him in a whoosh.

Deadpool held himself tightly over him, protecting him from any stray bullets. His bulk was also managing to keep Peter upright, as he wasn’t sure he could stand in that moment. Bullets continued to ricochet off the corner of the wall covering them, others flying past them in a blur of speeding gunpowder.

Deadpool took one of Peter’s hands and pressed it to his bleeding shoulder.

“Apply pressure. It looks like it went clean through, you should be fine.”

Peter nodded and gasped out, “I heal fast.” 

The pressure of his own hand against the wound stung fiercely, but Deadpool was right, he needed to staunch the bleeding regardless of his healing ability. It certainly wouldn’t help it along if he lost too much blood.

Deadpool chuckled at that and told him, “Well whaddya know, me too!”

He stepped back, away from the wall and into the dangerous line of fire, and reached for a bigger, far more lethal looking gun.

What part of _no killing_ did he not understand? 

But Peter’s voice was nearly down for the count, each breath still stabbing painfully out of him, and he couldn’t reach out to stop him so he did the next best thing.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, but used the arm from the side he’d been shot on to web the gun out of Deadpool’s hands.

The gun slung itself into his stomach far faster and harder than he had anticipated, winding him, but he grabbed onto it and held. He wavered along the wall for a moment, but braced his legs and stayed up. The gun was heavier than it looked.

A bullet just missed Deadpool as he turned his head slowly to scowl at Peter.

“That’s not for little spiders,” he chastised Peter like he was a mere child, voice deepening with anger, and stepped closer. 

Peter looked up in defiance, hand wrapping tighter around the metal in his hold, not ready to give it up without a fight.

“Hand it back to daddy, please.” A gloved hand extended out, and he motioned for Peter to give it up.

An uncontrollable shiver ran down Peter’s spine at that.

Deadpool’s head tilted in interest. 

“Give it back _right now._ ” Deadpool leaned into Peter’s space so he could growl low into his ear, “Or I’m gonna have to punish you.”

His shoulder pressed hard against the hand Peter still held across his wound. That was the only reason he gasped and released the gun. Really.

The gun dropped straight into Deadpool’s expectant, waiting hands as if he’d predicted Peter’s reaction all along.

Peter heard the tell-tale sign of bullets being chambered, and he whimpered, using all his strength to push off the wall. This was _his city_ , dammit! Deadpool couldn’t just go killing people in it, Nazi pieces of shit or not. 

“Deadpool, you can’t—”

A bullet whizzed by his head, missing him by mere centimeters. 

Deadpool growled again, annoyed and angered, and suddenly Peter was thrust back against the wall with a hand along his throat. His own hand slipped from his wound, and pain radiated up from his shoulder at the rough movement.

The steady pain was making him feel groggy and sluggish. He sort of felt like he hit his head, slow and confused, but he knew he hadn't. He wasn’t exactly sure how to describe what he was feeling.

Deadpool’s other hand came up to grasp at his hand again, and pressed it forcibly back to his still-bleeding wound none-too-nicely. 

“ _Stay put!_ ” he snarled, and the hand around his throat tightened in time with the command. The hand restricted his airway, so with the ability to verbally respond gone, he simply nodded. Suddenly leaning safely against the wall didn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.

Deadpool brushed his masked lips along the shell of Peter’s ear as he whispered, “Good boy.”

The hand slipped off his neck, and the hot bulk along his front vanished. Peter nearly whimpered at the loss.

His gaze felt unfocused and the command echoed repeatedly in his head. His gaze stayed glued to the street beneath him where it had slid slowly as Deadpool had manhandled him.

The gunfire and taunting quips from Deadpool didn’t register. Peter could have been along that wall for minutes, hours, days. The only thing he felt was a weird floatiness, and the steady, low throb of his healing bullet wound. 

Maybe he had lost a little too much blood.

His eyes were starting to slip shut. The wave of sleepiness he felt was unexpected. The hard wall behind him and the continuous pain he felt did not make for great sleeping conditions, but the darkness behind his eyelids was so tempting.

“— _Webs_ , hey, you in there?” The sharp snap of fingers jostled him out of his light doze. He jumped and then a hiss escaped him. Moving still wasn’t fun, just yet.

“What?” Peter snapped, irritable. He glanced up to see Deadpool’s head titled in thought.

“Huh,” was all he said, as if noticing something. He didn’t elaborate. Instead he reached out gently to extract Peter’s hand from his wound. He prodded it for a minute, pushing the fabric around so he could get a good look. 

“You weren’t kidding,” Deadpool muttered curiously. “Bleedings stopped, and it’s starting to close already.”

“Why would I joke about that?” Peter grumbled questioningly at Deadpool. 

Deadpool’s fingers slipped off him as he shrugged, “ _No se_ , _cariño,_ but I think it’s safe to let the pressure up now.”

The simple roll of spanish off Deadpool’s tongue caused a shiver to run down his spine, and he knew the language plenty enough to pick up the pet name. He blushed and shoved off the wall, angered by his reaction to something as stupid as Deadpool calling him _sweetie._

The grogginess he’d been experiencing wore off enough for him to notice the blood in various places amongst Deadpool’s person.

“Are _you_ okay?” He asked. His own concern surprised him. He’d heard of Deadpool’s healing ability, but the amount of spots he’d been hit in seemed endless.

“Physically? Fit as a fiddle. You should see the other guy,” he winked again and the comment caused awareness to zip through Peter.

He stepped hesitantly around the corner and nearly gagged at the scene in front of him. There were bodies slung around _everywhere_. Peter was pretty sure that was an _ear_ stuck to a lamppost.

Blood leaked steadily from various bodies slumped across the pavement. The blood he’d smelled earlier was nothing compared to now, and he had to switch to breathing through his mouth. It churned his stomach unpleasantly. 

He whirled around, but Deadpool was _right there_ behind him and he looked up, up, up into the white, unfazed eyes of Deadpool’s mask. 

Peter had never felt such anger in his life. It thrummed through him, causing him to shake slightly, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. His shoulder protested as his body tensed in pure rage.

“You can’t just go around _killing people,”_ Peter hissed through clenched teeth. 

“Not people,” Deadpool argued. “ _Bad guys.”_

“They’re still _people_ , Deadpool! I can’t let you get away with this!”

Deadpool honestly looked confused for a moment, then the eyes of his mask narrowed.

“I think you’re forgetting something,” he glanced down at Peter darkly. “I just saved your ass.”

Peter scoffed. “I would have been fine without you, and _they_ ,” he pointed out into the carnage, “wouldn’t be dead!”

“I’m just sayin’. You looked a little damsel-y. I think I’m deserving of a little thanks.”

Peter huffed out a breath in disbelief. “You want me to _thank you_?”

Deadpool leaned down further into Peter’s space. “Mhmm, _badly_. I’ll take that smooch of victory right about now, if you don’t mind. Places to be, and all that.”

Peter hadn’t realized how close they’d gotten to one another in his rising anger. Deadpool was hovering over him close enough to kiss, if he really wanted to.

_Which he certainly didn’t._

After what the man had done? He didn’t deserve anything but the click of handcuffs.

“I’m _not_ thanking you for taking over something I clearly could have handled. You interfered and now these men are _dead_. I know this may seem hard for _you_ of all people to understand, Deadpool,” and Peter knew he was hitting below the belt with this last one, but that didn’t stop the words from falling cruelly off his lips, “but that’s _permanent_ for everyone other than you!”

Deadpool retracted like he’d been slapped.

It didn’t feel as victorious as Peter thought it would.

The whites of his mask seemed to flash dangerously, and even Peter’s senses were picking up the pure, unadulterated outrage that surrounded the far larger man. Peter gulped, and his throat throbbed with the phantom touch of fingers.

But instead of lashing out like Peter was prepared for Deadpool to do, what he was _known_ to do when that angry, he instead turned his back to Peter and walked across the clearing. His boots squelched in puddles of blood as he leaned down to collect a gun he’d clearly thrown and, Peter blanched, a katana embedded in someone's skull.

He holstered the gun, and sheathed the katana.

Deadpool paused for a moment, as if debating something, before glancing over his shoulder. 

“Catch ya later, babe.”

With that he turned to leave, not glancing back once at the complete slaughter he’d left in his wake. As if it was nothing more than Peter’s problem now.

Peter stood there, stunned by the complete callousness that radiated off Deadpool, and watched as he let the muscular figure disappear into the night.

It would be a little while longer before he saw Deadpool again, but it was almost daily that he remembered the bruising, tight grip of large hands along his throat and the low growl of a commanding voice in his ear.


End file.
